


Where the Heart Is

by shihadchick



Category: U2, the Virgin Prunes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-15
Updated: 2005-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Day in the Life (of Bono Vox, aged 17, know-it-all and done-it-now).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

It has been a most unconventional day.

Not the school day, that at least continued in the most regular (tedious) and usual way possible. No, the oddity of this day centres wholly around the after school activities.

Our man from Ballymun has, this very day, got laid. For a handsome man of eighteen, in an era of growing freedoms, this is not such an unusual event. That his lover is of an age with him is not terribly unusual either. What separates this encounter from those of his classmates is that his adolescent fumbling, all nerves and sweat and heat and uncertainty, does not actually take place in the muddy brush behind the bike sheds.

Under the circumstances, that would've been most unwise. As well as terribly uncomfortable.

Because, you see, the most unconventional aspect of his day is not what he did.

But who he did it with.

As a first lover, he could do far, far worse than Gavin Friday. Could not really do better, if he's honest with himself – and he usually is that. There proves to be something utterly intoxicating, something powerfully right about doing this with his best friend. It's equal parts heated and silly, funny in all the right moments (and, okay, a few embarrassingly wrong ones, but that seems to be part of it, and there is no lasting shame, just a well-worn heaviness to his limbs, and a lassitude to Gavin's movements that he wears well.) It's fun. It's hot and tiring and there's an ease between them, an absolutely searing naturalness to the way they feel, tangled together.

From the first kiss – hesitant, dry-lipped and damp-handed – to the sure hands untucking his shirt, it just all seems to go so right. Not, of course, to say that there are no awkward moments. Or that there isn't anything they'll manage better the next time, because enthusiasm has no match for experience, and he'll certainly remove his watch quite a lot earlier in the proceedings next times, given that they wasted at least five perfectly good minutes in a house that is empty for so brief a time just in unhooking the bloody thing from Gavin's trousers without ripping anything. And he's fairly sure he'll last longer next time, because, well, no excuse really, Gavin, his body and his hands – his mouth – well, maybe if he had the patience of a saint he could have restrained himself, but he's never been known for saintliness, now, has he? But overall… it's been, well, nice. As inane as that sounds. Pretty damn close to perfect, actually.

He'd left him in the warm bed they'd shared, dozing in a wreck of blankets, eyes half-closed and heavy, exuding sex and resembling nothing so much as a well-fed house cat. They'd kissed, lingering, parting on the best of terms, and now he's sprawled in his own bed, hand over his eyes as he remembers, chilled, restless, tiny and lost under his duvets. The house is creaky and cold, and he shifts again, unable to settle. Feeling, for the first time this day… wrong.

This is not where he's meant to be.

The crash as the windowsill slams closed behind him echoes through the house, but he's down the street, round the corner and halfway to Gav's before his father even makes it down the hall.

Home is where his heart is, after all.


End file.
